Machinations
by DiaCharr
Summary: Harry is thrust into a universe where everyone and everything is a little more dangerous, then again so is he. Let the games begin.


Death surrounded him. The devastation in front of him was unbelievable. He'd adjusted the frames of his cracked glasses in disbelief several times, the sights in front of him were hard to comprehend. Hogwarts lay in ruins at his feet. It wasn't home, but the closest thing to one he had ever known. And now even that had been destroyed.

It was shocking to see the hoops of the Quiditch Pitch speared through the Slytherin table in the great hall. The Astronomy tower had been reduced to stones. Small fires burned at the books and posters that had once lined the hallowed walls of one of the world's greatest institutions. Uniforms, trunks, even the random parts of wands were scattered about. There were bodies of course. Mangled faces with lifeless eyes that stared up at him. Some faces he recognized. Some he didn't. He'd grown used to death these last few months.

In the beginning it had threatend to overwhelm him, to swallow him up as it had done most of the others. But Harrison James Potter was stronger. He had to be, there were too many that counted on him. Even when he felt they shouldn't. When he'd been thrust into this world he was a child, albeit one with more issues and sorrow than most, but a child none the less. They'd expected so much and he knew a pitiful little. The games had started immediately, continuations of set-ups taking place before he was even born. Harry figured it was like starved wolves with him as nice fresh meat. They'd attacked relentlessly. The worse part was he didn't even know it. His naïveté oozed from his pores. And those he'd trusted where content with his ignorance.

Harry pulled himself from his thoughts and continued with his task, locating the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It should have been a simple matter of apparting or even port keying, but his magic was severely unstable and he'd given his spare port key to one of the Creevy's. Harry walked slowly afraid of what he may find, his speed didn't bother him, he was sure he was the only one left on the battlefield. Everyone else either dead or retreated by now. He'd given the order himself. But by then it was too late, there wasn't much to retreat to, and for that matter there weren't many left to retreat. But he'd tried to spare what little remained. And so by himself, as he had been for most of his life, he'd fought Voldermort alone.

The banter that had been standard in their previous meetings was absent. Both knew that this was the ending, and they battled as such. The air around them was heavy with magic and emotion and finally towards the end desperation. Neither Harry nor Voldermort bothered with incantations. It wasn't time for holding back. Earth was ripped and reformed, golems were called forth, runes etched from the blood of injuries inflicted by the enemy. At some point Harry lost his wand. At some point the sun had set and saw fit to rise again.

But victory was his, the final curse thrown an invention he'd been perfecting for months. It wasn't entirely wand based. He'd been etching runes the entire battle. Any spare moment that allowed he'd added to the growing yet invisible array meant to banish the dark bastard who called himself Voldermort to the grave. The horcruxes where gone, Harry's own vanquished in a 20 hour blood-based ritual in the very chamber whose entrance he stood in front of.

Wearily he leaned down and entered the code to gain entrance to the chamber that had been a base throughout the war. With the help of Hermione and a visiting rune master, they'd manage to convert the parseltounge password into something more appropriate for those who couldn't speak the serpents language. And really Voldermort and probably a group of millions by now knew what the password had originally been and Harry didn't know how many other speakers were out there. Perhaps with the war now done and after cleanup efforts were underway he would look into it. He wished to look into a lot of things but these thoughts were again pushed aside. Harry was so very tired and there was much left to do before he could rest.

Opening the chamber he began his descent down the stairs, now made permanent by magics similar to those used to alter the pass code. With every step his senses, now fine tuned and trusted after months of war, screamed at him. Something was wrong.

Where was the rush of activity as the injured were healed and the dead grieved over. There was no noise at all, in fact it was silent. Not even the drips from the ever present broken pipe near the bottom of the stairs could be heard.

Harry continued down the stairs. If this was a trap there was no turning back now. Whatever awaited him could easily hear the chamber open, could probably hear his heart beating let alone his footsteps. Where were his friends? He had sent them back to check on the others and recover once it became a battle between just Voldermort and himself. What was happening?

Theories raced through his head at breakneck speed, just slightly faster than the pace he had adopted. Clearing the stairs he raced past many tunnels that were just a clever decoy of the darkest Founder. In Harry's 6th year he'd returned to the chamber and discovered exactly what Slytherin had hid. It was like a vault of sorts, resources ranged from gold to books and even ritual rooms. It was truly magnificent and completely removed from outside influence. Right now it was completely empty, not even those stationed in the chamber before the latest and final battle remained.

Harry fought panic and rushed from room to room wand raised, but it was useless there was no one here.

He started to turn back for the stairs, maybe just maybe they'd returned to the main halls of Hogwarts. He felt the presence before he heard the voice, "You won't find them there."

Harry knew the voice well, how could he not it was his own. He turned around slowly, wand raised and poised for an attack he knew his weariness would not allow him to carry out. He was torn between questioning the being that held his likeness and cursing it. His seconds of indecision cost him. He was bound and stunned before he registered any movement from his opponent, only to realize that there had been none. Tired or not Harry's magics fought against the bindings seeking weakness and other such openings. He latched on to the signature only to find it so similar to his own he paused.

The being spoke, " I am you, and they are dead".


End file.
